An Unsuitable Woman
by Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
Summary: An Elseworlds story set in Edwardian England. Whilst searching for a bride, Lord Chakotay is drawn to the decidedly ineligible Lady Kathryn Janeway. Expected to marry for duty, will he dare to marry for love?
1. The Gentleman Meets the Lady

TITLE: An Unsuitable Woman  
AUTHORS: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring and Kathleen Speck. Brenda wrote the Chakotay entries and the coda, Kathy wrote the Janeway entries.  
RATING: G  
CODES: J/C AU  
PART: 1/6  
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the characters, but we'd bet real money they never seriously considered this particular use of same.  
SUMMARY: An "Elseworlds" story set in Edwardian England. Whilst searching for a wife, Lord Chakotay is attracted to a most ineligible choice--Lady Kathryn Janeway. (For those new to the concept, an "Elseworlds" story is one which places familiar characters in unfamiliar settings or situations. I believe DC Comics coined the term.)  
A/N: This story is presented with a tip o' the hat to the *real* Henry Darrow, best known to most Voyager fans for his portrayal of Chakotay's father Kolopak. He inadvertently inspired this story, less by being the charming and charismatic actor he is, than because his name sounds like it would be *perfect* for an English lord!  
  
  
  
An Unsuitable Woman  
by Brenda Shaffer-Shiring and Kathleen Speck  
  
  
From Lord Chakotay's Journal  
27 April 18--  
  
Another ball this evening, the girls lovely and fresh-faced and so young that I felt like some ancient lecher prowling amongst them. But again they smiled at me, and simpered, and acted as if they saw nothing untoward in a man of five-and-thirty making the rounds of the debutante balls and dancing with girls young enough to be his daughters. If Elizabeth is correct, they probably did not. Do not.  
  
My dear sister actually snorted at me this evening, when I expressed my misgivings to her. She advised me that of course the young ladies welcomed my attentions, as I could make any one of them the next Countess Dorvan--a prize that makes my particular identity quite unimportant. And of course, any girl I chose would suit the role well enough, as every girl in attendance was a gentlewoman, well-bred and well-trained to assume the management of my house and the rearing of my children.  
  
When I told Elizabeth that I would prefer a bride with whom I had some sympathy, she looked surprised. "I never guessed you were such a romantic, brother. Love doesn't have anything to do with choosing a wife."  
  
And I must choose a wife, I know that. Yet, how am I to choose, if I may not use my own feelings as a guide? Though I must admit, to be sure, that my feelings have been of little help thus far. All of the girls are pretty, yes, and all of them amiable, and I know without doubt that all of them are well-bred. Yet, none of them stir anything within me other than a manly appreciation for their beauty. They seem as like to me as one doll to another. How is a man to choose amongst dolls?  
  
Truly, of all the women in the hall tonight, only one engaged my attention in the least--and she hardly an eligible bride!  
  
But let me describe the encounter as best I recall.  
  
I saw her about halfway through the ball. She was standing at the buffet, choosing bits of this and that for her plate and not seeming very interested in any of it. She was a small woman, a decade and more past her own season but still handsome, with well-formed features and smooth dark hair upswept in a fashionable style. She looked familiar to me, though I had no idea why she should.  
  
After a moment's puzzling, I applied to Elizabeth to identify the lady. She affirmed that it was Lady Kathryn Janeway, elder daughter to the late Admiral Edward Janeway. That explained where I had seen her, and also why I was so uncertain in my recognition. Lady Kathryn would, of course, have been in the receiving line at her father's funeral, but so immured in mourning garb that her features would have been quite indistinct. I had presented myself to her, along with several other of her father's former officers.  
  
"I must pay her my respects," I told Elizabeth. It might be pleasant, to speak to the daughter of my admired commander, and in any event it would spare me, for a few minutes, the effort of seeking yet another introduction to yet another eligible debutante. I crossed to her, and spoke. "Lady Kathryn?"  
  
She looked up, seeming a bit startled by my approach. "Lord Chakotay?"  
  
I shall never grow used to hearing that title directed at me. For most of my life, the only Lord in my household has been Lord Henry, my father, and I (save for my time in the navy, and in the presence of my father, Elizabeth, and Lady Eleanor) merely the bastard son. But I have bemoaned that point at length, and shall not belabour it longer. In any event, it was clear that I was the one addressed. "My lady. I am honoured to have the chance to renew our acquaintance."  
  
"My lord?" She hesitated for a moment, looking as if she were thinking. "Ah, yes. You were one of my father's officers, I recall." I noted that her voice was contralto, rich and strong.  
  
"I had that honour, ma'am." I made a bow. "We used to say, aboard our ship, that Lord Nelson might be the *hero* of our victory, but Lord Janeway was its *architect*." She smiled a little sadly, I thought. Small wonder, of course; she was no doubt feeling her loss. "He was a fine officer."  
  
"He was a fine man," she said quietly.  
  
"Indeed he was." After a moment, the silence between us threatened to grow uncomfortable, so I sought to break it. "So, what brings you to the ball this even, my lady?" She was not old enough to have a daughter of marriageable age (and was in any event herself unmarried), so could not be serving as such a daughter's chaperon. And I was quite certain I had not seen her at any of the other events this season; surely I should have noted it sooner had my old commander's daughter been in attendance.  
  
"My niece, Jenna, is just out. You see her, the young lady over there?" She pointed with her eyes, and I followed her gaze to see a slight, pretty, fair-haired girl dancing with one of the many younger swains present. "As my sister-in-law is...indisposed...my brother"--her lips pressed together, just a bit, on those last words--asked me to serve as her chaperon."  
  
"She seems quite lovely," I said diplomatically, though in truth she seemed to me not unlike most of the other young ladies.  
  
"Oh, yes," she said blandly. "Lovely, amiable, clever, accomplished--everything required of this season's girls. Suited in every way to be a perfect bride." There was a distinct note of irony in that low voice. "Does that suffice, my lord, or should I continue to enumerate her virtues?"  
  
"That will suffice," I said, smiling, entertained by the way her wry tone made a joke out of what would have been, in any other chaperon's mouth, a perfectly serious offer. "Perhaps I should ask you to introduce me to her, if she is such a paragon."  
  
"Of course, my lord," still with that note of humour. "My brother would never forgive me if I failed to ensure Jenna her chance to win this season's most eligible bachelor."  
  
"Hardly that," I demurred; almost every courting man in the room was younger than I, and a few were even wealthier.  
  
"Indeed you are, my lord. There's no girl in this room who would not consider it an honour to marry the future Earl of Dorvan."  
  
No doubt she was right, yet the thought gave little pleasure. Looking out over the bevy of girls, I knew full well how few of them would have welcomed my suit were my lady grandmother still alive, and still trying to keep me from my father's title. Indeed, I would not have been allowed to make suit, just as I had been barred from courting gentlewomen these many years. Thus the pitiful spectacle of a man of my years attempting to pluck the fruits intended for his juniors. "Ah, yes," I said, and could not quite hide the irony in my own tone. "I've no doubt they would marry *Dorvan*."  
  
She was looking at me with some interest. "That is the way of things. What would you have, my lord?"  
  
The question was so forthright, and so perceptive, that I could not but be forthright in return. "I would find a woman who would marry, not only Dorvan, but also Chakotay."  
  
"Then I wish you good fortune," she said, the merriment gone from her eyes. "You are a romantic, Lord Chakotay."  
  
"So my sister tells me."  
  
"You are new to the ways of high society, or you would know that no one marries for love in this day and age--at least, no one of our class." There was a low note of bitterness in that, not quite masked, and I found myself wondering whether Lady Kathryn hid some secret sorrow behind that fine face. Surely there must be some reason why a woman so fair and so well-spoken had not been married long ere this.  
  
"So I begin to gather," I answered. "Instead, we marry for bloodlines, like cattle bred to cattle." Too late, I remembered that was an indelicate analogy to employ before a lady. Also too late, I heard my own anger, at the certain knowledge none of these girls wanted me, Chakotay. They wanted only the heir to Dorvan, whether he were me, or some fine young gentleman, or the ugliest and most elderly lecher in all England.  
  
She did not seem shocked at my words, or at my tone. "Well said, Lord," she said quietly.  
  
And speaking of cattle, one of the veriest calves of all was at that moment in full stampede toward me, herded by a proud and determined-looking dowager whom I recognised all too well. "Lady Kathryn," I said, low, urgent, "please tell me that you like to dance."  
  
"Why, yes, Lord Chakotay," she answered, clearly confused by the change in subject.  
  
"Then, if you would do me the honour--" Hardly pausing for answer, I swept her out onto the floor, leaving the hapless Lady Dianna and her lady mother blinking after us, bewildered.  
  
Lady Kathryn still looked confused, but her gentlewoman's training asserted itself and let her move easily through the dance. When a turn brought us past Dianna and her mother, Lady Kathryn's face showed her understanding. "Ah, the dreadful Dianna. How did you know she's a detestable child?" she murmured.  
  
"I knew her mother as a girl," I murmured back, sparking a smile from her.  
  
"A matter of apple and tree, eh?"  
  
"So I strongly suspect," I said, delighted with the aptness of her phrase. As we danced on, I saw that Lady Kathryn's movements were fluid, as lithe as those of any belle around us, and the exertion was quickly lending a becoming flush to her fair cheeks. As wisps of hair escaped their confinement to trail around her face, she seemed quite pretty, especially when she looked up to me with that shy smile. And yet, there was nothing girlish in her aspect or her attitude; she was still in every way a woman grown. Was that a part of her charm? I had thought, before this, that beauty was the provenance of youth, but perhaps I had been mistaken.  
  
All too quickly, the dance ended. Doubtless I should have made my excuses, then, and gone on to pursue my duty as my father's heir: finding a bride. I sought to form the words....and stopped as I saw her eyes begin to lose their brightness, her slim shoulders to droop. "My lady," I said, and made my best courtly bow. "Would you join me again?"  
  
She was clearly flustered. "Lord," she said, low, "you know I should not."  
  
"Nonetheless, I hope that you will."  
  
After a moment's hesitation, she placed one small hand on my arm, and we were off again. With her, the simple movements were pleasant, even joyful, where before they had been as much duty as anything. I said light things to her, foolish things, and enjoyed her renewed smiles.  
  
Even if it would not have been quite improper to do so, though, I could ask her for no third dance. The minute we stepped from the floor, my father engaged my attention, and the Lady Kathryn's brother hers. We had time for one quick, apologetic glance before we parted, and I hoped my impulsive acts had not caused her trouble with her brother. A man, being a free agent, can weather his lord's disapproval, but a woman, being subject, is far more vulnerable.  
  
My father escorted me from the ballroom, then, and into the outside air, where I received a blistering lecture. It was embarrassing, even humiliating, and I have no wish to recount it here. Suffice it to say that he reminded me that my duty to Dorvan demanded I devote my time to seeking a wife, and not to dallying with an elderly spinster, no matter how pretty.  
  
After a time, I returned to the ballroom, and made the rounds of the same dreary, eligible girls who had failed to engage my attention before. Dear God, but I am weary of this search, and the season is not yet a month old. 


	2. An Afternoon in the Maze

TITLE: An Unsuitable Woman  
AUTHORS: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring and Kathleen Speck. Brenda wrote the Chakotay entries and the coda, Kathy wrote the Janeway entries.  
PART: 2/6  
  
  
From Lady Kathryn's Journal  
4 May 18 --  
  
Today Jenna and I attended a garden party hosted by Lord and Lady Bennett. The weather was soft and mild, perfect for a spring afternoon gathering. She wore her pale pink dimity day gown, and I wore my dark apple-green lawn. Out of respect for the strengthening sun, I insisted that we both carry parasols as well as wearing hats. When she objected to carrying the parasol, I reminded her that they can be quite effective at removing unwelcome suitors and at masking a private conversation. I dislike resorting to such subterfuge, but acting as a young woman's chaperon is a difficult task. I shall have to remember to write dear Aunt Martha and thank her for performing the task for me when I was young.  
  
It was a small affair, only about one hundred and fifty guests or so. All the young ladies in their pastels looked lovely, like all the spring flowers blooming in the garden. The usual clutch of dandies was dancing attendance on the young women, seeming a bit out-of-sorts without the opportunity of real dancing to mask their attentions towards the young ladies. They resorted to the fetching of cups of punch and plates of food. The small competitions were quite amusing.  
  
Many of the people who had been at the ball the other evening were in attendance, including the Viscount Darrow, young Lord Chakotay. He was dressed in buckskin shaded trousers with a snowy white shirt, a darker tan jacket and a grey silk cravat. It quite complemented his colouring. With his skin tones he doesn't need to protect himself from the depredations of the sun, as so many men neglect to do. Indeed, his face shows that he spent several years in His Majesty's Navy, several of them under Father's command.  
  
We spoke when I was getting some punch and he came up beside me. I was startled for a moment, but was very pleased to hear his voice. It was almost as if he was whispering in my ear. What a silly, schoolgirl thing to say, but that's the best way I can describe the sensation. His voice is warm, yet it sent a shiver down my spine. Perhaps it isn't so much the voice as the speaker. Hmmm.  
  
He's only recently come into his title, as he was born the illegitimate son of the Earl of Dorvan, Lord Henry Darrow. The whole story is quite outlandish. As I recall, the Earl left his wife--in fact, completely left England, and traveled to the West Indies. Apparently he took up with some native woman there and she bore him a son. Unfortunately, at least for the immediate parties involved, she died in childbirth. The Earl decided to bring the boy back to England and required his wife, Lady Eleanor, to raise the boy. Whilst she had borne him three daughters, they had no sons, and, if gossip was to be believed, he intended to recognise the boy as his son and heir.  
  
When Mother had visitors, I remember the topic coming up; of how the Earl's mother, the Dowager Countess Dorvan, refused to allow her son to officially recognise the boy. In fact, she refused even to allow the boy to visit her home. It was quite the scandal. As I understand it, the Earl himself refused to visit her for years because of her attitude.  
  
Be that as it may, the older woman outlived her daughter-in-law. As I recall, Lady Eleanor passed away a few years after I made my own debut. The Dowager Countess finally passed away last fall, and Lord Darrow wasted no time naming his natural son Chakotay as his heir. Thus finally granted the title that should have been his from birth, the young man has taken his place in society and has begun his search for a bride so that he may begin producing the next generation of young nobles for Dorvan.  
  
I can't imagine refusing to acknowledge a child in that manner. If her son was willing to accept responsibility, it couldn't harm the Dowager Countess in any way. The Lady Eleanor would have reason to object, but not the Dowager Countess. If I remember correctly, Mother often praised Lady Eleanor's Christian charity and forbearance when she spoke of the Countess. I imagine she referred to the fact that Lady Eleanor was raising her husband's bastard son. I must say she did an excellent job of raising a gentleman.  
  
But I digress from my recounting of today's happenings. Lord Chakotay spoke with me as we were standing by one of the refreshment tables. I was a bit uncomfortable speaking with him, as Edward had given me quite a lecture after the dance when I had allowed the Viscount two dances. He reminded me that the Viscount was in the process of finding a wife, and I should not be wasting his time, as I am most unsuitable as a potential bride. I should just be about my duties as chaperon to my niece, and leave the eligible young men alone. After all, I had to be of some use to the family, since Edward is paying for my upkeep. Forgive me, dear Lord, but I detest my brother at times--he can be such a rotter!  
  
I decided that I would disregard Edward's instructions. I had not approached the Viscount, he had approached me. And I did nothing to prevent him from approaching any of the young ladies who were enjoying their season. I had absolutely no intention of interfering with his search for a compatible bride. But if the Viscount chose to speak with me, it would be the height of rudeness to ignore him. After all, his Lordship might decide to look with favour upon our dear Jenna.   
  
No, here in the privacy of my own thoughts, I will not lie to myself. The Viscount would never look with favour on Jenna. She is a good girl, well-trained by her mother to run a large household, but she is not his equal intellectually. Nor is she even capable of conversing on anything other than last evening's ball or the dress she will wear to the next route. He has told me himself that he feels as if he were participating in a cattle market, with him as the prize stud bull. He even once mentioned that he felt a bit like a lecher casting his eye over such young girls, since he was old enough to be their father. I had to remind him that such was the way of things in our level of society, and that there were several other titled gentlemen, much older than himself, looking over the same selection of potential wives.  
  
But I'm losing track of my tale. The Viscount and I were speaking and sharing a plate when I noticed Jenna walking into the garden maze that Lord Bennett is so proud of, and she was not alone. Since she had failed to ask my permission to do so, I felt the situation needed to be investigated. Lord Chakotay offered to accompany me, so it did not attract attention to Jenna's actions. I was as grateful for his suggestion as I was to take the strong arm he offered, as we strolled quite purposefully into the maze. We kept hearing snippets of Jenna's laughter, so we knew we were on the right track. Then there was so sign of Jenna or the young man who had accompanied her into the maze. The more I thought on it, I wasn't even sure who the young man was. Edward was correct; I had been ignoring my duties toward Jenna in favour of Lord Chakotay's attentions.  
  
We moved quickly through the maze, and suddenly heard a large group of young people just on the other side of the hedge. We paused, and heard Jenna amongst them. Knowing that nothing could happen in such a large group, I took advantage of a convenient wrought-iron bench and sat down. My heart was racing at the thought of what might have happened. Lord Chakotay took my hand and assured me that he would allow nothing to happen to my niece. It was very sweet of him to make such a promise. He continued to hold my hand and look into my eyes for several silent moments.   
  
I could feel the heat of his hand through my glove; my fingers tingled. I know that makes no sense, but it is completely true. It was highly improper to continue, and I knew I should stop it at once, but I couldn't seem to find the strength to remove my hand from his. I could feel a flush rising up my neck to my cheeks that had nothing to do with the warm sunlight spilling on us, but still, I couldn't find the energy to remove my hand from his. This was not a position I should be found occupying, but I didn't care.  
  
His eyes are so deep brown, yet there are flashes of colour there when the light is right. For a moment, I felt as if I could look at them for the rest of my life; for a moment, I wanted to do just that. Then we heard laughter approaching through the maze and I reluctantly pulled my hand from his. I remained sitting and he standing until the couple walked past. They smiled a greeting, and I was only able to return it through force of habit. I have no idea if he was able to smile at them. His body was very tense, and I believe it was because of their interruption. At least I fancied that it was.  
  
Some time after they passed by, Lord Chakotay turned back to me and managed a smile. Extending his hand, he asked if we should continue our stroll. Taking his arm, I rose and agreed. We finished the maze eventually, enjoying the fresh air and conversation. He spoke of his time in the navy and told me several stories of service with my father. I'm sure he cleaned up the details, since there were several times when he was forced to pause, as if searching for a word or phrase that would not scandalise me or detract from Father's memory in my eyes. I didn't know how to tell him that in spite of how I loved my father, I am aware that he was very much a man who enjoyed his time away from home and on his ships.  
  
We also discussed some of the recent events of the ton, and I was surprised that he even had an opinion on the gowns of several of the women. It's difficult to remember all we spoke of; the topics flowed like a stream flush with winter run-off. Mostly, though, I remember that we laughed a great deal. I can't remember when I laughed that much. We took several incorrect turns in the maze, and found ourselves in dead ends. These just caused more laughter. Lord Chakotay commented that he could navigate around the world, yet he couldn't find our way out of such a simple maze. It was delightful to be with a man who could laugh at his own mistakes. When I was enjoying my season, as I remember, most men found that to be an impossible task.  
  
I truly hated it when we reached the end of the maze. By the angle of the sun, Lord Chakotay said that it was almost time for tea to be served. I knew I had to find Jenna and privately take her to task for her behaviour. He was so gallant when we arrived back in the garden proper. Let me see if I can recall his exact words. "Lady Kathryn, it has been a true pleasure to spend time with you this afternoon. I hope we have the opportunity again in the near future." Then he kissed my hand. Again, he took much longer than was necessary to release my fingers. It was almost as if he didn't wish to do so.  
  
Oh, it would be so nice if only that were so. But he must find a bride who is young enough to provide him with heirs, fine sons to carry on the family name and daughters to make advantageous matches. I'm two-and-thirty years, far too old to be starting a family. Besides, I'm active with the ton this season only because I'm chaperoning Jenna. Once her father settles on someone for her, I'll be sent back to the family's estate post-haste. What a dreadful future.  
  
Maybe Jenna will be fickle, and refuse her father's choice.  
  
Maybe I'll sprout wings and fly to the stars. 


	3. The Families Intervene

TITLE: An Unsuitable Woman  
AUTHORS: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring and Kathleen Speck. Brenda wrote the Chakotay entries and the coda, Kathy wrote the Janeway entries.  
PART: 3/6  
  
From Lady Kathryn's Journal  
17 May 18--  
  
I hate my brother. No, that's not strong enough. I abhor him. Had my mother not raised me to be a Christian lady I would have him cast into the lowest pits of Hell. How *dare* he accuse me of throwing myself at Lord Chakotay! And he certainly didn't have to throw my status in my face yet again. I know I am considered quite unmarriageable.  
  
Of course, he's been complaining about the cost of having an unmarried sister living at his expense ever since Father died. And when the doctor ordered Edward's wife to bed for the duration of her pregnancy, my dear brother reminded me that I had an *obligation* to the family to chaperon Jenna through her season. Did I complain about that? No, I most certainly did not! I remember all too well how necessary it is for a young woman to have a chaperon. And I certainly did not demand huge quantities of gowns and dresses to see me through the season. I understand the expense involved just gowning Jenna; I wouldn't beggar the fortune my father left for an extensive collection of gowns that I would only be able to use for one season.  
  
And I do know how to behave at court. Our mother saw to it that I was raised properly. She died just the year before I had my season, so Edward has no reason to complain on that stand. But I fancy he doesn't need reason to complain. I wouldn't be surprised if the Earl of Dorvan, Lord Chakotay's father, hadn't put a bug in his ear. Implying that I was indulging in improper behaviour with the Viscount, of all the nerve! I never danced more than two dances a night with him. I did walk with him at that garden party, but it was the middle of the afternoon, and several other couples saw us whilst we strolled in the boxwood maze.  
  
Yes, I do enjoy his company. Men never seem to consider that a woman might have more to talk about than the gown they're going to wear to the next ball, or the troubles of running a household. Father, at least, allowed that I might have been paying attention to the conversations going on around me at our home. And certainly Lord Chakotay seemed to enjoy our conversations; I know I did. We had conversations that touched on politics, farming, literature, theatre and even naval history. Thank you for that knowledge, Father.  
  
But this evening came. I was very excited and pleased to see the Viscount at Lord and Lady Drummond's ball. It was as if I had been given a reprieve from the rather onerous duties of chaperoning Jenna. Then Edward walked up behind me and pulled me bodily into a window alcove. He gripped my arms very tightly and held me against the wall. No one could see us; the window curtains shielded us from prying eyes. He was so hateful.  
  
"I will not allow you to throw yourself at the Viscount again, sister," he snarled at me. He went on to tell me that if I didn't send him away, he would send me back to the family's country estate post-haste. I tried to explain that I wasn't doing anything untoward, but he just shook me until I was silent. I hate that I'm such a coward! But I couldn't think of anything to say that might change his mind. "Now, go to the Viscount and inform him that you will not be able to `amuse' him any longer."  
  
His expression was so hard, so closed. I was afraid he might hurt me right there in the Drummonds' ballroom. I agreed and he dragged me back out to the general company. "Go to it," he hissed in my ear as he turned me toward Lord Chakotay. I managed a weak smile, and walked to meet him at the refreshment table. I selected a glass of champagne and took a sip to settle my nerves.  
  
The gentleman in question had an odd expression on his face as he approached me. I could tell he was pleased to see me, but there was an unexpected sorrow in his eyes. I tried to force myself to be brave, but I failed quite abjectly. He could see through my bravado almost immediately. He asked what was wrong as soon as he was next to me. I had no way of avoiding the subject, especially as Edward was watching us with the eyes of a hawk. I swallowed the rest of the champagne in my glass, set it down, and fixed a small plate of food. He followed me and asked again. Finally, I turned and looked at him.  
  
I wanted to look into his dark brown eyes forever. The thought scared me and I lowered my eyes. Unfortunately, they settled on his mouth. His lips are so full, and I had the fleeting impulse to find out what it would be like to kiss him. Shaking my head, I banished such thoughts. If he could read my mind, Edward would have me driven to our country home before the sun rose. I had to tell him Edward's decision quickly, before what limited courage I had deserted me.  
  
I set my plate down and took his arm to walk away from the crowd at the tables. I would withstand Edward's anger to salvage some remnants of my personal dignity. When we were away from the crush I stopped him and turned to look at him. "My brother doesn't want me to spend any time with you. He is concerned that I am keeping you from your search for a wife, and says that I am not to hinder you in your search." I got out all the words without even a hiccup or tear. I did notice, however, that I was having trouble drawing a deep breath; and I couldn't keep my eyes on his face.  
  
He didn't say anything for several moments. Finally, I looked at him, and was surprised at the depth of the sorrow I saw in his eyes. Then he told me that his father had given him the same speech in their carriage on the way to the ball. He was told to get on with his search for a wife and to quit wasting his time with me, no matter how amusing I might be.  
  
That's why I wonder if the two `gentlemen' in question had words together on this subject. Though if I find out that Edward discussed me in such a manner, I will find the knife Father received as a gift from that Moorish sultan from Zanzibar and apply it to my brother in a very unladylike fashion. I've watched Cook at work, and I believe I could do a reasonable job of gutting Edward. But I digress.  
  
It took conscious effort to breathe. Then I found myself nodding and blinking very rapidly. "Yes, we have to follow the instructions of our families." I was afraid I was going to break down in tears, so I started to leave, when I felt his hand on my arm. I stopped, but I couldn't look at him; I knew the tears would break through if I looked at his warm eyes. I could manage no more than a soft whisper, "Please, my lord. My brother *does* insist that I no longer speak with you. You must find a wife and I cannot...please, Chakotay, I must go now."  
  
Then I looked at him. I could see the surprise at my use of his Christian name, but even more, the pain that my words had caused. I had to add, "I'm sorry, I really must get back to my duties, my obligations." At that, he let go of my arm, and I walked as quickly as I could back to Jenna and there I planted myself, glaring at all the young men who came to speak with her.  
  
I admit, I couldn't help it when my gaze strayed across the room and I saw him. Saw him dancing with this one, or speaking with that one. There's no reason that it should have hurt so badly, but it did. I've known all along that he had to find a suitable bride and marry, be about his duty and begetting an heir. What was I hoping for? I had no possible future with the man. So why did I imagine strolling in a garden with him, with the laughter of children all around us?   
  
I must be losing my mind, or at least my heart. 


	4. Advice From Tom Paris

TITLE: An Unsuitable Woman  
AUTHORS: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring and Kathleen Speck. Brenda wrote the Chakotay entries and the coda, Kathy wrote the Janeway entries.  
PART: 4/6  
  
  
From Lord Chakotay's Journal  
26 May 18--  
  
This afternoon's picnic was maddening. To see Lady Kathryn across the lawn, and know that I could not so much as approach her, much less speak with her--to be forced instead to endure the insipid chatter of foolish girls who have no thought beyond the next ball or the newest gown, to watch the transparent manoeuvrings of the proud mamas whose only wish is to mate their little darlings to the man of highest rank and greatest wealth--! With Kathryn at my side, I might have laughed at the frivolity and spectacle, but barred from her presence I could only chafe and glower with frustration.  
  
I left as early as was decently permissible, and made a swift retreat to our townhouse. Not long afterward, my father also returned home, with reproaches for my early departure, as well as for my sullenness throughout the event. It was more than I could endure, and I departed the house as swiftly as I could change garments.  
  
The club, at least, was decently quiet and free of either chatter or reprimand. I dined in that blessed quiet, and retired afterward to an armchair, to be alone with the newspapers and my thoughts. John Ethan fetched me a brandy and a cigar, retreating with his usual admirable discretion.  
  
The stillness was broken by the arrival of an old comrade of mine. I looked up at a loud hail, to find that I was being greeted by none other than Tom Paris. Though in some ways I was genuinely glad to see him (I still remember fondly the nights we spent with our shipmates at S____'s tavern), I fear I was but ill company, as what I had really wished in coming to the club was not companionship, but solitude.  
  
Tom, as always, was quick to realise my mood, and, also as always, to refuse to respect it. "So, my Lord Viscount," he demanded merrily (only Tom Paris could use my newly-won title to tease!), "what's made you even less charming than usual this evening?" I advised him that I did not wish to speak of it, but of course that did not daunt him. "Heard you were making the rounds of the debutantes. I'd have thought you'd enjoy that, you old rogue!"  
  
I delivered a short, blistering commentary on the utter lack of wit, sense, and beauty amongst this year's girls, the bitterness of which actually rendered Tom briefly silent. "So no one has captured your interest, then?" he surmised after a moment.  
  
"That's just it," I said shortly. "Someone has. But not one of this year's girls." He allowed that many girls did not find husbands in their first season. To which I snapped that it was not her first season by more than a decade, that she was on the shelf and thus quite ineligible.  
  
"And who is this interesting and ineligible lady?"  
  
"Lady Kathryn Janeway," I said at last, grudgingly.  
  
"The admiral's daughter?"  
  
"The same."  
  
"Hmmm....you're right, she's no debutante. In fact, old friend, she's nearly as old as you, isn't she?"  
  
I glared at him before informing him, quite stiffly, that the lady was two-and-thirty, three years my junior.  
  
"Indeed," he mused, as if giving the matter some consideration. "So what is so interesting about this *young* lady?"  
  
"She has wit! She has understanding! She has a knowledge of the world! She is not one of those walking dolls who know about nothing beyond the latest fashions. She has spirit and grace."  
  
"I note you don't say she's pretty," he pressed.  
  
"Perhaps not to those fools who think all beauty resides in youth," I snapped-and lost myself for a moment, thinking of those large eyes, those perfect cheekbones, those slim shoulders. Of the way her face lit up when she smiled. No, she was not pretty as a girl was pretty; hers was the beauty of a woman grown.  
  
When I returned to myself, Tom was observing me closely. "Oh, old friend, she has you in quite a state," he said softly.  
  
In that moment, I realised the truth that Tom had already inferred, the reality my own mind had hidden from me: I love Lady Kathryn Janeway.  
  
At last I acknowledged, "I suppose so." It should have been a joyful moment, but it was not. Of what value was a love that could not be acted upon?  
  
There was sympathy in Tom's blue eyes as he regarded me. "So let's see," he said finally, as if taking inventory. "She has wit and understanding. She has spirit and grace. She's pretty. She was born of a good family, and has, to all accounts, a good reputation. And," he added quite definitely, "you love her."  
  
I nodded, unable to dispute a single word of his summary. Dear God, I loved her. What was I to do?  
  
Tom shrugged. "Then I should think the solution to your difficulties would be obvious, my friend."  
  
I had no idea what he meant, and said so.  
  
His face took on an impatient aspect. "For God's sake, Chakotay--marry the lady!"  
  
I fear I looked at him quite stupidly. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Marry her. For the love of God, man, why not?"  
  
"But--" I sputtered finally. "But she is two-and-thirty!"  
  
"And why should that be an obstacle? *You* are *five*-and-thirty."  
  
"But I need--I need a woman who can give me children. Sons." I have great esteem for my father, but I could never do what he had done, in turning from the wife who trusted him to father his heir elsewhere. Even though dear Lady Eleanor had accepted him again as husband, had even come to accept me as son, I cannot but think that his infidelity must have hurt her deeply. And I had determined long ago that I would never be the cause of such injury to a good woman.  
  
Tom rolled his eyes. "And what makes you think she cannot give you sons? Is not her sister-in-law in circumstances even as we speak? And she is some years *older* than Lady Kathryn. My sisters have borne children whilst they were past thirty years, and so have your own. How old was Elizabeth when she bore her youngest? Or Margaret?"  
  
"Elizabeth was seven-and-thirty," I said, realising it. "Josephine six-and-thirty. And Margaret--Margaret was a full forty years." A wild hope rose within me, mingled with a sudden, startling joy. "Dear God. Is it possible? Could I truly--?"  
  
"Why not?" He grinned at me, with every jot of his old insolence very much in evidence. "If your father tries to stop it, Chakotay, just say the word and Belle and I will ride with you to Gretna Green tomorrow. After all," and here he winked, "I do know the way!" (Gretna Green, of course, being where he and Belle had wed, after their speedy elopement!)  
  
And so the matter was settled. Tomorrow morning, I shall ride to the Janeways' townhouse, and ask for a word with Lady Kathryn, then--if my proposal be pleasing to her--a word with her brother.  
  
God, please let it be pleasing to her. If our marriage is her wish, too, then I will *buy* that fool brother of hers if I must, to win his permission. After all, what good is being the heir to Dorvan, if I cannot buy the occasional lord at need?  
  
But I begin to ramble. It is grown quite late, and I should try to sleep now--though at the rate my heart is thundering, God alone knows how I shall manage! 


	5. A Question Is Asked

TITLE: An Unsuitable Woman  
AUTHORS: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring and Kathleen Speck. Brenda wrote the Chakotay entries and the coda, Kathy wrote the Janeway entries.  
PART: 5/6  
  
  
From Lord Chakotay's Journal  
27 May 18--  
  
I had never known it was possible for a man to be so happy on this Earth! I am giddier now than I ever was as a schoolboy!  
  
Lady Kathryn--let me call her Kathryn henceforward, for that is a husband's privilege--has agreed to become my wife. And it shall be done as quickly as can be managed without causing an unseemly scandal, though even at that I am not certain how well I will bear the wait.  
  
But let me recount the story of the happiest moment in my life, so that in later days I shall be able to look back and see it in its every detail. Though in truth, I find it hard to believe I shall ever forget what transpired, no matter how many years may pass.  
  
I dressed myself carefully and rode out just before eleven, so that I might be at the Janeway townhouse as soon as the proper hour for calling began. A little servant girl admitted me, and offered to escort me to the blue parlour, wherein Miss Jenna was receiving callers. I informed her gently that it was not Miss Jenna on whom I was calling, but Lady Kathryn.  
  
She looked surprised, but excused herself to inform the lady. Some time later, she returned, and led me to the green parlour, where Kathryn waited. I am not much of one for noting the details of a lady's garb, but I shall always remember how the deep blue of her dress offered the perfect accent to her dark-blue eyes.  
  
"Lord Chakotay," she said softly, a question in those fine eyes.  
  
I bowed over her outstretched hand, and gave it my most courtly kiss. "My lady," I said, and hoped she could read the warmth of my regard in my own eyes. "I have missed your company."  
  
"And I yours," she answered, low, looking searchingly at my face.  
  
I reached for her free hand, then, so that I might clasp both of hers in both of mine. "I have missed it so much," I said, feeling the hammering of my heart against my breastbone as I spoke, "that I have decided I wish never to be without it again."  
  
"My lord?"  
  
"I want your companionship for all of my life, Lady Kathryn." I squeezed her hands, though whether I was trying to reassure her or myself I hardly knew. "If you tell me it would please you, I will go before your brother now, this instant, and offer for you."  
  
She turned so pale then that my breath caught. I had shocked her. Did that mean she did not welcome--did not want--? It was a terrible prospect to contemplate. I did not know what I would do if my feelings for her were not reciprocated.  
  
Yet I had to hear her answer, even if it crushed my hopes, even if it crushed my very heart. And so I stumbled on. "Please, my lady"--I have stood long watches on deck without so much as a sip, and never has my mouth been so dry as it was at that moment--"please tell me that it would please you to become my wife."  
  
She looked away. "You need a bride who can give you sons, my lord," she said, so softly that I could barely hear it. But of course I already had an answer for her.  
  
"You are not so old as that," I said, low but firm, "as my sisters, and your own sister-in-law, could prove." I canted my head toward hers, and caught her eyes. "I want no sons but yours, Kathryn," I said then, and I meant it as I have never meant anything in my life. The mere thought of Kathryn swollen with my child was one to which no other Earthly vision of beauty could compare, and oh! how I yearned for its reality.  
  
I tried to communicate the force of that desire with my eyes, and perhaps I succeeded, for she looked up and met my gaze fully then, her own eyes filling with moisture. "Then I will be your wife, Chakotay," she said, softly but steadily. "Gladly I will be your wife." Her small hands squeezed mine tightly.  
  
I kissed her then, tenderly, and felt sweet fire course through my blood. I folded her into my arms carefully, mindful not to crush her delicate frame. But she wrapped her arms around me, and held on with a strength I had not guessed.  
  
Decades of training asserted themselves, and we released one another quickly, mindful of the need not to cause scandal with our ardor. (At least, that was my thought-I assume it was hers as well?) But the warmth in her eyes was like an embrace.  
  
After a moment, she looked away, but this time she was smiling. "Is there some jest, my lady?" I asked, feeling that smile taking shape on my own lips.  
  
Her smile grew merrier. "I hope you drive a shrewd bargain, my lord."  
  
"I don't understand," I said, and if my voice mirrored my feelings then it would have been somewhat uncertain.  
  
"With my brother. When you offer for me."  
  
"You think your brother will make some obstacle?"  
  
"I am quite sure he will not." Her eyes lit with mischief, and perhaps a spark of anger as well. "But I beg you, be sure that you do not let him scant on the dowry, or on the wedding arrangements. After the trouble and grief he has brought me in these last weeks, I want to see him pay through the nose!"  
  
Well, I did not let him scant, of course--and she was quite right, he made less than no obstacle to the match, unless I chose to take offense that it took him so long to respond to my proposal. But I expect that was simply because, the moment I told him it was Kathryn for whom I had come to offer, his mouth fell open and what slight wit he had fled through that gateway, forcing him to wait until some tiny morsel of it should choose to return and animate him.  
  
I had expected more resistance from my own father, but when I went to him in his study he simply looked at me, with pale, set face. "So be it then," he said. "You are a grown man, and will do your own will. But have you thought, my son, what you will do if she does not give you sons?"  
  
"That will be as God wills it, sir. Which is as it always is. Even a young bride is no guarantee of a son, as you know to your sorrow." After all, had he not married Lady Eleanor in her first season? And she had given him none. But of course this home truth made him no happier.  
  
"I love Lady Kathryn, sir," I told him at last. "I am born of the love you bore my mother; does it surprise you so, then, that I should value the emotion so highly?"  
  
His eyes grew damp, and for a moment he looked past me, as if he were regarding someone else entirely. Then his gaze returned to my face. "No," he said, his voice sounding somehow rough and gentle at the same time. "It does not surprise me at all."  
  
We left it at that. I suppose he is merely resigned now, but I hope he will become truly reconciled in time. I have every hope that Kathryn herself will eventually win him, as she seems to have quite a talent for winning the moody men of Darrow!  
  
Well, I must be off to bed. I have business to attend to in the morning. I hope it is not troublesome, for I fear I shall have scant patience with it if it is! For my thoughts will all be for the afternoon, when I am to call on my promised wife so that we may discuss the details and arrangements of our wedding.  
  
Of our wedding! My very hand is unsteady with joy as I write the words. I had never dreamed a marriage could be such a wondrous thing. 


	6. From the Times of London

TITLE: An Unsuitable Woman  
AUTHORS: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring and Kathleen Speck. Brenda wrote the Chakotay entries and the coda, Kathy wrote the Janeway entries.  
PART: 6/6  
  
CODA (the following year)  
  
From The Times of London  
10 May 18--  
  
NEW SON BORN TO NOBLE LINE  
  
We are pleased to announce the birth of a new scion to the line of Darrow. We are advised that a son, Henry Edward, has recently been born to Lord Chakotay Darrow, Viscount Trebus, and his wife, Lady Kathryn. The Viscount is, of course, the son of Lord Henry Darrow, Earl of Dorvan, and was several years ago confirmed to succeed his father in that noble title. As the Viscount's firstborn son, Henry Edward will no doubt be confirmed as the next heir in due course.  
  
END 


End file.
